Page 135 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s not something you can snap out of. You’ll get to a place in your life where you feel you can manage your OCD, but, Fabs, you have to want it. Not just say you want it. You have to fight for it.” Harleigh’s face softened, but she didn’t coddle me. “Just like you have to fight for yourself, you have to fight for him too. You have to stop running. You have to show up.”

A sob broke from my lips, raw and aching. “I don’t know how,” I admitted.

“Yes, you do.” She shifted closer, looking me straight in the eyes. “You don’t want to. Because it’s scary. Because it means being vulnerable. He’s not the enemy here, babe. Your fear is. If you don’t face it, you’re going to lose him.”

I swallowed hard, my body trembling. I wanted to fight. I wanted to be better.

I wanted him.

50

Beau

“Dad, I swear I’m fine. The doctor cleared me to drive.” Another week had passed, and thankfully, I was feeling more like myself. My arm was still in a cast, but the headaches weren’t as constant or sharp anymore. “I need a damn coffee because my machine decided to break, and since I had to get fancy with it, I’m stuck waiting until tomorrow for the parts to fix it.”

Dad grumbled something under his breath. “Be careful, son.” Then the line went dead.

I sighed, slipping my phone into my pocket as I pushed open the door to the coffee shop.

“Hey, Nance.” I nodded at the barista behind the counter.

She beamed at me. “Beau! Good to see you up and about. We’ve missed you.”

I offered her a small smile, doing a quick scan of the shop—to be sure. I was a town over, but I was the one who had introduced her to this place. The last thing I needed was to run into Fable when I still had no idea where we stood.

The longer I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t want a relationship like the one my parents had. I didn’t want to be with someone who ran when life got hard—because life would get harder. That was inevitable. I needed someone who could stand in the fire with me, not someone who left me to battle the flames on my own.

But damn, I missed her. I missed her like I missed moving my fingers. Like something inside me had been ripped out, leaving nothing but an aching, hollow space.

I was exhausted, probably a little depressed from being stuck on the sidelines, unable to do anything. No bulls. No riding. Just sitting in my damn house with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company.

The sharp edge of a voice cut through the low hum of the coffee shop.

“I said I wanted my coffee black, not with sugar,” a man snapped at Nance, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch.

My brows furrowed as I watched her fumble with the cup and apologize.

I stepped forward and squared my shoulders. “Is there a problem here?” I stared the guy down, waiting for him to get the damn message. “You got a problem with your coffee, you ask nicely. You don’t go yelling at the people who make it.”

The guy exhaled sharply, clearly irritated, but smart enough not to push back.

I turned to Nance, my tone softening. “Will ya please make him another one? On me.”

She nodded, looking relieved as she got to work.

I side-eyed the guy again. “You’re not from here.”

He scoffed. “How’d you know?”

“Everyone in these small towns knows everyone.” I gave him a slow once-over. Slicked boots, a belt buckle so damn shiny I could probably see my reflection in it, and a cowboy hat that looked like it had come out of the box this morning. He stuck out like a sore thumb. “You’re passing through,” I said.

He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m here to take my fiancée home.”

I stilled. My stomach twisted, a slow, sickening feeling creeping in. “Y-your fiancée?”

He nodded and grabbed the coffee Nance had remade from the bar. “Yup,” he muttered, taking a slow sip. “She moved out here a few months ago. Thought she was breaking up with me, but really?” He let out a low chuckle, one that sent a sharp, crawling sensation up my spine. “She was having a breakdown. Needed some time to get her head on straight. I gotta bring her home where she belongs.”

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I swore I could hear it over the dull hum of the coffee shop. My hand burned inside the cast, itching like hell, like my whole body was fighting against the fact that this motherfucker was standing in front of me, talking like he owned her. Like she was some lost little thing that he could pick up and drag back where he thought she belonged.